The Overture of Dallas Winston
by blame it on the government
Summary: He was tougher than the rest of them-tougher, colder, meaner. The shade of difference that separates a greaser from a hood wasn't present in Dally. He was as wild as the boys in the downtown outfits.


The young woman hurriedly walked through a shabby corridor with a quiet intensity. She had fine blond hair plaited into a thick braid that rested somewhere near her hips. You could tell she had a pretty face, but her beauty was obscured by the copious amounts of bruises surrounding her eyes, etched into her cheeks, smashed into her chin. Even though it was the middle of the night, she was fully dressed, clad in a long woolen skirt and a sweater to match. On her feet, she wore her most practical shoes.

She stopped walking when she reached a whitewashed door with a brass knob. She pushed it open and allowed herself into the dark, small room. She didn't need the lights to see what she was doing. Feeling with her hands, she located a duffel bag sitting in a corner, and, almost mechanically, she began to stuff clothing into the bag from a little wooden dresser.

When she ran out of clothes to pack, she turned to the little bed in the corner of the room. She could faintly make out a small lump in the sheets. She walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge, smiling a bit as she considered her son. He had the covers pulled up to his chin, his head turned to the side, so all you could see was his head, covered in blond, nearly white fluff.

"Dallas," the young woman said softly as she gently shook the little boy. "Come on, honey. It's time to wake up."

Dallas, just a child of seven, wearily opened his eyes and faced his mother. He blinked slowly, stifling a yawn, before closing his eyes again.

"Come on, baby," the woman smiled. "Time to get up and get dressed."

Dallas opened his eyes again, the sleepiness obscuring his vision as he shook his head.

"It's not time for school yet," he yawned, considering the darkness seeping through the windows.

"You're right, baby, it's not. We're going on a trip."

Slowly, Dallas sat up. He liked trips.

"Where are we going?" With one hand, balled up into a little fist, he rubbed his eyes, throwing his other arm back into a stretch.

"We're going to your favorite place in the entire world."

Even through the dim light, the young woman could see the instant effect of her words. Dallas threw his legs over the side of his bed, standing up, his bare feet hitting the wooden floor, a sleepy smile developing on his face.

"When are we leaving?" he asked, shivering in the coldness of the room.

"As soon as you get dressed."

Dallas went to flip the lights on, but the young woman stopped him.

"We have to play a game," she whispered. "We can't wake up daddy."

Dallas paused for a moment, thinking hard.

"Mommy?" he asked. "Are we leaving because you and daddy had a fight last night?"

The young woman stood still, pensive as tears began to form around the corners of her eyes. She had been fifteen years old when her boyfriend, Christopher Winston, knocked her up. Her parents kicked her out of the house and the two teenagers moved in together after eloping. Chris was two years older than his new wife, Mara. He immediately got a job and by the time Dallas was born, Mara and Chris lived in a small little house in New Jersey, across town from where they grew up. It was really nothing too fancy and they lived in a pretty lousy neighborhood. But the two were proud that they were able to provide for themselves.

Dallas was scarcely a month old when Chris started beating Mara. She really had no where to run. Practically a child herself, her parents were ashamed of her and she was too ashamed of her own situation to ask her friends for help. Besides, she couldn't just run away. She had a baby to care for, after all.

Tonight, however, was different.

Chris was always in a temper, but last night had been especially brutal. He had throttled her and shook her and punched her face before throwing her against a wall. She thought Dallas was fast asleep, but the noise must have woken him up.

"It doesn't matter why we're leaving," she replied softly. "Just hurry."

She helped the small boy out of his blue pajamas and into a pair of jeans, a long sleeved shirt, a sweater, jacket, socks and shoes. When he was all dressed, Mara grabbed the duffel bag and quietly stole out of the room, Dallas's hand resting in hers. She found her own bag, letting go of her son to grab it.

The entire house was dark, but as they approached the living room, they could hear it: the boom of snores. Chris, after the fight, had dismissed Mara to her room. He never came to bed himself, though. She assummed he was probably passed out, drunk, on the sofa.

Together, the mother and son walked across the living room to the front door. For Mara, it felt like an eternity as they navigated around the mine field of beer cans and whiskey bottles. Through the darkness of the room, Dallas didn't always miss the alcohol paraphernelia. Mara's heart jolted each time she heard the crunch of aluminum, the tinkle of glass. Finally, after days, weeks, months, years, they reached the door. Mara put her hand on the brass knob and turned it.

The snores abrupty stopped with a loud snort.

"Dallas!" she cried. "Out the door."

She wrenched the door open, throwing the bags down as she pushed her son out into the icy January air. She threw the luggage after him and was almost out the door herself when the man, still in his drunker stupor, began to speak, his words belligerent, nearly incoherent.

"Where do you think you're going?" came a deep growl Mara had long grown to associate with her husband.

Mara had been planning the speech in her head for months now, the speech she would give when she finally had the courage to walk out, her purse filled with money, her son clutched in her arms. But the words evaded her. They suddenly seemed so small and insignificant. Nothing was more important than getting Dallas to safety. Damn her own agenda!

She could hear now the ominous sounds of rubbish being thrown around as her husband relieved the sofa of himself, navigating through the living room to his wife. Mara, though, was faster. She darted out of the house, cluthing the luggage.

"Hurry Dallas!" she cried.

She turned around, pausing for a moment to clutch her son, shaking him, trying to wake him, as they continued to move down the street. A harangue of shouts and screams and curses flew down the street, but Chris did not follow his wife and son. The grown was icy, covered with a thin layer of frost, and following without shoes would surely mean frostbite.

Mara waited until they were a whole two blocks away from their house before she slowed down, pausing in the chilly, early morning air. Their breath came out in icy puffs, their lungs burning as they breathed the freezing air.

"Mommy?" Dallas cried through his heavy breathing. "Mommy, what happened to you?"

Mara bent down, clutching her son's shoulder.

"Dallas, nothing happened to mommy. We are going to go to a beautiful place where nothing can ever hurt us again."

"No, mommy," Dallas whispered, bringing his hand to his mother's face, grazing the skin gently with his fingers. "What happened to your face?"

In the ornage glow from the streetlight, Dallas had a clear view of his mother's face for the first time since waking up. He saw the purple skin, the blood clotted on her lips, the little cut near her ear.

"Nothing's wrong with mommy's face," Mara replied gently, taking Dallas's hand and kissing before rubbing it in her own hands, warming the cool skin with fricion. "I just tripped, sweetie. That's all. I'll be as good as new before you know it."

They stood together, quiet, for a moment, mother and son shivering as a gust of wind hit them.

"Mommy?" Dallas asked. "Did daddy hurt you?"

Mara, slightly perturbed by the question, didn't miss a beat.

"No, baby. Why would you ask that?"

"I dunno," Dallas shrugged. "I just thought maybe he hurt you too."

Mara felt her heart sink. A few tears rose to her eyes and trickled down her face, the salty liquid collecting in the corners of her mouth.

"Daddy... daddy hurts you?" She gulped, letting another thick tear slide down her face.

"Sometimes." He shrugged again. "When you're working late and I've been bad, daddy takes his belt and whips me."

Mara gingerly wipe the tears from her eyes, wincing slightly as her fingers brushed sore skin.

"I promise," Mara whispered, "that daddy will never hurt you ever again."

In the distance, a thin glow of light began to grow, shedding light on the neighborhood. Chain link fences exposed overgrown yards, pitbulls tied to posts, abandoned toys decomposing in the harsh elements. Mara stood up, clutching the luggage in her hands, her head held high in contrived pride. The new day meant the beginning of a new life for both her and Dallas.

"Come on, baby," she said softly, her voice calculated. "We have a train to catch."

It was a short walk to the bus station. As they labored through the morning, the sun climbed higher and higher in the sky and the people began to start their day. Men in jumpsuits and toolbags walked to the bus station or made their way to the subway, each of them with a brown paper bag containing their lunches clenched in one hand, a determined look plastered on their faces.

They stumbled into the train station, both of them exhausted, frozen to the bone. The station was nothing more than a concrete platform covered by a tin roof, the support beams rusted, creaking under the weight of time and collected ice.

The other people on the platform, mostly men on their ways to work, kept shooting Mara looks, staring at her battered face. Mara kept her eyes down, on Dallas as they waited. Finally their train screeched to a holt inside. Mara walked inside, sweeping Dallas along with her. They scrambled through the crowd, finally able to find a seat near the back. Mara stored the bags under the seat and watched as her son drifted off to sleep, his head lolling against her shoulder.

Mara, excrutiatingly tired herself, closed her eyes, but sleep did not come. The events from last night kept playing over and over again in her head, the pain tangible and real each time the Chris in her head hit her, shook her.

Looking at Chris Winston, he was good looking enough, clean cut with short hair. He had a good build, his muscles standing firm even through his work uniform, plumber's coveralls. In high school, he had been the envy of all the girls. Every young lady wanted to date him. And then he chose Mara, a mere sophomore. All the junior and senior girls were livid that such a young girl stole one of their men. At first, it was fun for Mara, but then she grew tired of Chris. All he wanted was one thing: sex, something, that at such a delicate age, Mara had no need or want for. When she finally got the nerve to end the relationship, she had just learned of the baby growing inside of her.

Her life took an unexpected turn for the worst. After her parents kicked her out, after she moved in with Chris, after she dropped out of school, her life continued on a path of bleakness, each day more so than the other.

Then, just a week or so ago, something happened, a little splotch of light in the long, dark tunnel of despair.

Near the end of a long day at the diner where Mara worked, a particularly familiar customer walked in. He sat down at the counter, ordered a cup of coffee and a slice of pie and idly read a copy of the _New York Times _as he waited for his food_. _Mara kept staring at him, searching her mind from where she recognized him. When his apple pie was ready, she set it down on the counter in front of him.

"There you go, sir," she said cheerily. "Can I get you anything else?"

The man put his paper down and began searching Mara's face, considering her the same way Mara considered him.

"Mara?" the man asked after several moments.

Suddenly, it struck Mara who the man was.

"Erik Copeland?" she asked, staring at him with a sense of incredulousness. She ran into people from high school here and there. But Erik was different. He just wasn't a classmate.

"Gosh, Mara, it's been forever!" he replied, breathless. "I don't think I've seen you since sophomore year."

Erik and Mara had been best friends starting in first grade. They played together, built treehouses, played pretend in the sweet summer air. In the winter, they threw snowballs at each other before retiring inside, where they drank scorching hot chocolate and gobbled sugar cookies by the dozens.

As they grew older, their relationship also grew until they couldn't imagine a life without each other. Then, Chris Winston asked Mara out and all of their lives were irrevocably changed.

"It's been over seven years," Mara said with a nod of her head. "It's good to see you."

"More than good," Erik agreed. "Come over here, Mara Regenold, so I can properly greet you."

Blushing, Mara walked to the front of the counter, curtsying in her pink dress and white weapon.

"Actually," she corrected. "It's Mara Winston now."

Erik's face fell visibly.

"You ended up with Winston, eh?" Erik asked, sizing Mara up, his expression different than it was just a moment before.

"Yeah. What's so surprising?"

"Dunno," Erik shrugged. "Just didn't know he was your type."

"And who, exactly, is my type?" She stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at Erik with an unfamiliar expression. She absolutely hated her husband, despised him in ways she didn't know was possible. But he was her husband, and she felt a need to defend him.

Realizing that he had struck a raw nerve, Erik suddenly changed the subject.

"I don't have a lot of time," he said. "I'm only passing through. I have a train to catch in a few minutes. But I live in the City. If you're ever in town, you should look him up."

He tossed a five on the table before standing up, touching Mara's elbow slightly.

"Seriously," he said. "Please, look me up."

And with that, he left, leaving Mara feeling oddly alone.

In the cold, long hours last night as she nursed her wounds, Mara remembered Erik's kind words, the way she felt so safe, so happy, so content with him when they were kids. He seemed sincere enough with his words. And Mara knew, knew in a way she had never known before, that her life with Chris could not continue. Opportunity knocked, and, boy, did Mara open the door, grasping at the prospect with helpful hands, latching onto the idea like a drowning child latches onto a lifesaver.

A long, screeching noise knocked Mara out of her thoughts as the train came to a halt at Grand Central Station. People began streaming from the train and Mara began gently shaking Dallas awake.

"Come on, honey," Mara whispered. "We're here. We're at your favorite place in the entire world."

Slowly, Dallas woke up, opening up his icy blue eyes, looking around. Mara stood up, extending her hand to her son. The two stumbled out of the train, moving with the crowd, into the beautiful interior of the train station. Even through his fatigue, Mara could see the wonderment forming on her son's face. The New York City was his favorite place in the world. He loved everything from the crazy crowds of Times Square, the strange, peaceful oasis of Central Park, the history of the Statue of Liberty. He loved that you could get a hot dog and eat while you walked through the hustle and bustle of the city. He felt comfortable swaddled amongst the masses. If anything, Mara thought to herself, Dallas would be happy here.

The young woman led the sleepy child through the early morning streets, a crowd already forming as the two navigated the streets. Mara found a diner and she shoved Dallas inside, taking a seat at a booth. She ordered herself a coffee and Dallas a plate of waffles.

"Wait here, sweetie," Mara said when the waffles arrived. "Eat your breakfast. I'll be right back."

She had seen a phone booth right outside the diner. Stepping outside in the frigid air, she found the phone and its attached phone book, searching through the C's. She found over a hundred entries for Copeland, but only one Erik Copeland. With trembling fingers, she dropped a dime into the machine, dialing the number. Her heart began to thump in her chest as the phone began to ring. Five minutes and about thirty rings later, though, Erik still hadn't answered. Not sure what else to do, Mara wrote down Erik's address on a scrap of paper from her purse. Leaving the phone booth, she walked back into the diner, where Dallas had eaten about half his waffles. He stirred the remainder of his food around on his plate in a tired and defeated manner.

"All done with your breakfast?" Mara asked.

Dallas nodded his head. He had bags under his eyes and his hair stuck out in odd angles.

"Come on then," Mara cajoled, grabbing the bags. "We have one more bus ride and then we'll be there and you can go to sleep. Okay?"

Wordlessly, Dallas stood up and the mother and son began to walk. They found a bus stop quickly enough, waiting for only a few minutes before the right bus came. Mara worked to keep her eyes open as the bus drove through the murky streets. They almost missed their stop, Mara opening their eyes just in time to hop out of the bus, Dallas stumbling behind her in her wake.

Finally, Mara found the right building. Pushing open the door on its rusty hinges, they walked into the dusty building, the tiles grimy, the stairs creeky as they ascended them. They stood outside of apartment 3B and with a trembling hand, Mara knocked, hoping beyond belief that Erik would answer the door.


End file.
